


the night before

by TrekFaerie



Series: 63 Hours [1]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Humor, Come Eating, M/M, Mild Painplay, Oral Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Virginity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 04:12:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8734459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrekFaerie/pseuds/TrekFaerie
Summary: Online shopping is dangerous.





	

He'd never been much of a drinker. It all tasted far too bitter for him; even the so-called "sweet," "dessert" wines were anything but. And he'd never liked how fuzzy it made his head, how it made it even more difficult to concentrate-- and now it outright ruined his most favorite activity, naps, by making waking up an agonizing experience.

But, that all changed the day he learned that, at some point between his early 20s and his current age, some underappreciated genius had decided that the normal vodka flavorings-- lemon, lime, strawberry-- had not benefitted from humanity's full potential. That man, who deserved an endless amount of awards, had seen a world where whipped cream flavored vodka did not exist and said, no, that will not do!

What a god amongst men. That was the sort of person who ought to get days named after them, not flippity floppity sports elves who had never contributed anything of such worth to the world.

He ordered it the way he usually did, the package falling into his lap more gingerly than most, on account of its fragile contents. He held up the bottle to the light, admiring it, how it shined, the little cartoony picture of whipped cream on the label...

He started with a glass. The glass turned into the bottle. And then the bottle was gone.

-

"-- And another fucking thing, you piece of shit--"

He wasn't exactly sure how he'd gotten there. Physically, he meant; the mental process that had lead from him sullenly, drunkenly thinking upon all the wrongs inflicted upon him during his entire life to cursing out and physically assaulting Sportacus in the middle of town in the middle of the day was clear and obvious, even to him. But, for the life of him, he could not remember even leaving his lair.

The object of all his ire, Sportacus, currently had his arms in a death grip, though he was pleased to note that he had, in fact, managed to (ineffectually...) slap him right across the face, somewhere between his cheery greeting and the dawning realization that something bad was happening.

"Robbie, the kids are right there," he said, though Robbie saw no kids, just a bunch of strange, colorful teenagers he'd never seen before in his entire life-- but, he allowed himself to be corralled away, and it didn't seem like very much time had passed at all when he realized they were back near his lair, standing at the door.

"Robbie." It had been very easy to summon up his anger when he'd just been mooning in the dark. It was significantly harder with Sportacus' hands on his arms, with that look of concern and worry, like he hadn't literally hit him only a few moments before. He couldn't even manage to remember what he'd been so mad about. Surely it had been important. But, how could anything be important, in comparison to kissing Sportacus?

... Which was definitely a thing he was doing. That was happening. He wasn't sure why, but then he hadn't been sure about anything for a solid three hours, at that point. The way Sportacus, after a moment's stiffness, melted into it seemed a retrospective reason enough.

He had a bedroom... somewhere, in the mess that was his lair. He rarely used it; why bother going to bed when you had a perfectly good armchair you never left in the first place? Sportacus, even with the unsure steps of a person trying to maintain a kiss while also navigating a world of sharp table corners and dangerous machinery, seemed to know where he was going.

What an awful bedroom he had. Hardly more than a plain bed, an exposed light bulb... Well, it wasn't like he'd ever expected company. But, as he shoved Sportacus back onto the bed with far less force than his hard landing would have required, his mind was consumed with regret that he hadn't thought to buy a decorative planter or something.

He climbed on top of him, easily covering him with his body, moving to nip lightly at his throat while his hands inched downwards, grasping what they could...

"R-Robbie, stop..." He did stop, looking at him, and something in his expression must have concerned him, because he gave him a thoroughly disarming smile. "No, not like that! It's just... It's very fast... And I've, well, I've never..."

He was surprised. He hadn't expected that it would be two little words that would finally shatter his heart for good.

"You've never...?"

He shook his head, slowly. Innocent blue eyes blown wide, lips parted but no breath passing them. Completely transfixed on the man above him.

"Say it."

"I've never."

"Not once?"

Another slow shake of the head. He felt the absurd urge to punch him. "Why _not_?" he asked, almost desperately.

The corners of his lips quirked slightly, for just a moment, as if something about the situation was amusing, as if he didn't notice his absolute anguish. "I've just... never done it," he said. It all sounded so simple when he said it. "Did I need a reason?"

"Yes! Some sort of... weird personal hang-up, or an arcane elf rule that demands celibacy, or, or-- Something! Anything!"

His head cocked to the side. "Have... _you_ done this before, Robbie?" he asked.

Wretched. That was the word he wanted. He felt absolutely wretched. And he didn't even want to understand why.

Of course, he didn't need to answer. He didn't even need to understand _himself_. Somehow, Sportacus knew, and understood, damn him, _really_ understood.

The hand that threaded through his hair was warm and sure, no more of the tentative touches from before. "You're very handsome, Robbie," he said. As if that were all that was needed. As if it were that simple. And maybe it was.

And then the grip turned harder, and he found himself pulled down, close enough that his next words were spoken against his lips: "It doesn't matter. You won't remember them soon."

He had only the briefest of moments to wonder, _Where the heck had that come from?_ , before he was pushed up and back, their positions reversed. Sportacus straddled his hips, arms reaching behind to undo the zipper on his back. "You'll have to guide me, of course," he said, as if the last few moments hadn't happened. "I don't really know what I'm doing."

He was so distracted by the increasing expanse of toned skin as he took his shirt off that he forgot conversations generally involved two people. "You seem to be doing pretty good on your own," he said.

"I've always been a good student." He tossed his shirt to the floor. "So, teach me. Tell me what to do."

He let out a long exhale, a breathy sort of laugh. "You'll regret saying that to me."

"I won't regret anything about this, Robbie."

The way he said it, in that tone of voice, very nearly made it sound true. "Let's get back to the kissing, then," he said. "Kissing is good."

And it was good. At first, once it'd drawn out longer than their initial kisses, Sportacus had grown slightly unsure, pressing his lips together hard out of reflex when a tongue tried to gain entry-- but a firm grip of his hair, pulling him closer, seemed to make him more comfortable, made him whine lightly at the touch of pain-- which just brought all sorts of lovely images into Robbie's head, ones he'd be sure to explore fully in time.

For now, he contented himself with exploring Sportacus' lovely chest, the glorious pectorals that had always been just barely hidden by a thin layer of lycra. His thumbnail scraped against a nipple by accident, and he was rewarded with a full-body jolt from Sportacus, like he'd been zapped with electricity. "Ah, not there," he said, breaking the kiss, sounding somewhat embarrassed. "They're, uh, sensitive-- Robbie!"

Because, of course, when given this information, he reacted like any good villain would upon learning of a hero's weakness: immediately exploiting it for his own gain. And the noise Sportacus made when he pinched that same nipple was definitely a net gain.

"Who would've thought," he said, thinking more out loud than anything else, "that Mister Goody-Two-Shoes Superhero would turn out to be a little pain slut."

"Robbie!" The blush across his cheeks was worth the offended glare and moustache twitch. "That's not a very nice thing to call a person!"

"I meant it in a nice way. Trust me on that."

"Well..." He bit his lip, the blush still staining his skin. "I do trust you."

He was unfair. He was just completely unfair.

It was also unfair that, despite the literal dreams coming true right in front of him, Robbie was having one hell of a time actually maintaining his erection, struggling to get even halfway hard without concentrating. How ironic, that the very thing that had lead to all this was set to ruin it...

The feel of a draft caught his attention, and he looked down to see Sportacus slowly and silently removing his lower articles of clothing. "I saw this in a painting, once," he said, as if that explained anything, and didn't just bring up more questions, like, "what kind of museums was this guy going to?"

He answered that question and many more, though without so many words. It would have been very hard to speak with his mouth on Robbie's dick, anyway.

True, it was only the head at first, then the sides as he began to coax the organ to life with his tongue. He reminded himself to find out what museums he was talking about and give them massive endowments... Heh. Endowments. He would have laughed, but Sportacus had decided to take that moment to show off his overachieving side and try to take over half of Robbie's cock into his mouth all at once, and his consciousness ascended to an entirely different plane of reality when he felt the head of his cock bounce against the back of his throat.

He gagged slightly, though less than one would have assumed-- the benefits of banana overconsumption, he supposed-- and went at a slower pace, his eyes fixed on Robbie's own the entire time he did so. Robbie found himself stroking Sportacus' hair and mumbling things that would have been soothing and supportive if he was still capable of human speech, but sounded all right anyway.

He had meant to pull out, to save himself for something a little more vigorous, but miscalculated; the sound of his cock popping out of Sportacus' mouth, lips wet and bruised, was enough to push him over the edge. He came in spurts over his face, white stripes across his cheek, his nose, his _hair_... God, he was such a beautiful mess. He only slightly regretted it.

Sportacus touched the side of his face, curious, before dragging a finger through the mess and promptly putting it in his mouth. Robbie pulled a face.

"Gross."

"Hm?" He pulled the finger out with a loud, wet pop. "Isn't that how you're supposed to clean it up? It's how I've always..."

What a wonderful mental image those words inspired.

Robbie was flat on the bed, breathing hard, trying to settle himself down a little... Meanwhile, Sportacus was still hard, his flushed cock pressed against his abs. For a moment, he thought he just hadn't climaxed yet; but, the mess on his stomach proved him wrong. He'd definitely come, probably while sucking him off (which was a thought he was sure would stay with him for the rest of his life), but seemed ready and raring to go only a few moments after.

'The benefits of youth? All that diet and exercise?' he idly wondered. But, as he reached out to stroke his face, to fondle his pointed ears, he knew that wasn't the answer. And, as Sportacus kissed him while pushing his thighs up and out (surely something he'd seen in another painting), he idly wondered just what the fuck he was getting himself into.

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna write an anal scene but i got lazy and didn't feel like it.
> 
> i've also decided that if i'm too lazy to think up a summary (which i usually am) i'm just gonna put a fucking non sequitur because why not.


End file.
